


From Your Hands Drabbles

by xpityx



Series: From Your Hands [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16066481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: Does what it says on the tin.





	1. Haste and Tents

**Author's Note:**

> This is VERY UNBETA'D. Warnings for excessive commas, overuse of 'though', and a whole lot of incorrectly used homophones.
> 
> Prompts welcome ^^

Emhyr was neither stupid nor hasty. He did not yield to impulsiveness and he did not make rash decisions. Except, apparently he did. He was glad, he reflected with a little amusement, that he had chosen to reveal this side of his personality to himself _after_ he had given up the crown to Cirilla.

 

(Of course, there had a been a time when he had acted in such a ill-thought-out manner once before - with the exact same person at the root of the cause - but seeing Pavetta again was still an open wound within his mind, one he uncharacteristically shied away from.)

 

In that moment though he had been as angry as he ever remembered being, as furiously afraid as when he had watched his father tortured to death in front of him; as when Pavetta had revealed that she had left their daughter behind. That someone had done this to _him,_ had dared to pull his past from its grave and remind him of what he had once been and how far he had come from the man that Pavetta had loved. He’d longed to find the architect of this monstrosity of a spell and see him piss himself in fear, as many men had done when faced with Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame Dancing on the Graves of his Enemies.

 

That Geralt had indulged him had been a surprise that he had not thought on fully until they were some days into their journey. The first time they had had to share a tent was when Emhyr had finally drawn himself out of his anger enough to take stock of the situation around him. The fact that he had not been 100% on his guard was a testament to Geralt himself and the trust he inspired in those around him. He was well aware that Geralt was humouring him and he sought to prove that he was equal to the journey ahead of them. He had once spent years as a half-cursed creature, scrabbling at the edges of society to survive: a month on the road hardly measured. Of course, that had been some years ago and he had apparently become more used to his lifestyle than he thought. He hated the thrice-cursed tent. Firstly, for the enforced intimacy, although Geralt had been as respectful of his privacy as one could be when sharing a space the size of a bed; then because it was no help during his growing attraction to the other man; and lastly because it was almost too small to fuck in.


	2. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [ Apuzzlingprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince) whose fault the whole series is, as they were kind enough to rec one of my other Witcher fics and remind me how much I love these two, and for [filistinist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/filistinist/pseuds/filistinist) who a) leaves lovely comments and b) asked what was happening inside Emhyr's head.

 

_“I see I have miss-stepped.” Emhyr said, visibly rebuilding the walls that had gradually been eroding between them as they journeyed together, “I will go see about some food.” He stood and pulled on his shirt in one smooth gesture, and then was out of the door._

_Geralt stayed where he was for a second, kneeling on the hard wooden floor, then he put his supplies away and sat in the furthest corner to meditate._

 

Emhyr stood in the narrow corridor outside their rooms, allowing himself a moment before he went to do as he said he would.

To say that he never made mistakes would be a lie: he was only human, after all. The difference between him and the ignorant masses was that he _planned_ for his mistakes. He had not adequately planned for this outcome though. _You cannot have what you_ _want_ , he told himself, ruthlessly, _you may only have what you_ _need_. It was something he had repeated to himself over and over after the death of his father, and again after Pavetta. It became an oft-used refrain until it was second nature to cast aside his own desires and, of all the things he did not need, he did not need Geralt in his bed.

Emhyr was sure he would never have even contemplated Geralt as anything beyond a useful ally had it not been for the various factors that caused them to be working in such close proximity. He was tempted to blame the spell: he could admit to himself at least that seeing Pavetta had affected him deeply. The truth was that the second he had let himself care for Cirilla he had known that there was a significant risk of other attachments being formed. Like the seemingly weak vines that gradually wore down stone, caring was insidious. Part of him knew that the risk involved with attachment was less now that he was retired, which had apparently allowed him to relax his guard enough not only to form a greater regard for Geralt, but to _act_ upon it.

He had not misjudged the receptiveness of Geralt himself he was sure, the witcher was not known for his discernment in such things, but rather Emhyr had deceived himself that his many misdeeds could be forgiven. Geralt was morally flexible enough to overlook Emhyr’s evils in order to work with him, even converse and drink with him, but he would bend his boundaries no further.

Emhyr was not hurt or embarrassed so much as disconcerted at the changes in himself that had been dragged out into the light. The decision to accompany Geralt had been impulsive, but perhaps not wholly for the reasons he had thought. Even now, a part of him was contemplating the difficult road back to the ruthless creature he had been. It was safer for his dignity, no doubt, but what of his relationship with his daughter, so carefully cultivated in the beginning, and now something more freely given? At what cost to cut away that which was all that was left to him now that he was no longer Emperor?

He shook himself a little, putting away such thoughts for now, and walked down the narrow staircase to the noise of the inn below.  

  



	3. Poor Treatment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [KaraQ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaraQ/pseuds/KaraQ) who asked _how would Emhyr react to people’s less than poor treatment of Geralt/Witcher’s on their journey?_
> 
> We're all aware that Emhyr isn't a particularly nice human being, right?
> 
> Right.

_ It turned out to be a shallow cut, only needing washing out and wrapping, but it was about six inches below Emhyr's right arm, towards his back, so it was just easier for Geralt to deal with it. Emhyr had only allowed Geralt to look at it once they had been coldly informed that the local healers did not deal with Witchers or anyone who travelled with them. Emhyr had been livid... _

 

He would have the healer shackled and placed in a gibbet, Emhyr decided, seething. Once he had started to starve, Emhyr would order his children and wife brought out and their throats slit. Their bodies would be cooked on a spit in the square and their meat fed to stray dogs, so that even in his grief the healer would smell the roasting of his loved one’s flesh and his stomach would tighten in hunger. 

 

Geralt, no doubt used to such insult, had simply sighed at the refusal. For the most part everyone had been relatively polite to the witcher on this journey. Unsurprising, considering the sheer number of people needing his assistance. 

 

None of Emhyr’s anger showed on his face, of course, but Geralt must have sensed something as he went so far as to put a hand on his shoulder as they left the room, as if he thought Emhyr would need to be physically restrained from acting out his rage. 

 

The stupidity of the general public never ceased to amaze him. He had once looked into the Trials that all witchers undertook, but there were few credible accounts of the process. He had been studying them to better understand the man who had raised his daughter, but now he had come to suspect that there was a mutation for increased patience. It was the only possible explanation for Geralt’s even keel in the face of such insolence. 

 

As they made their way up to the rooms Geralt had acquired for them, Emhyr mused aloud that perhaps he should extend the artistry of his ballroom floor to that of his new study. The look Geralt gave him over his shoulder was enough to dissipate the rest of his anger, and Emhyr allowed himself a small smile at the witcher's back. 

 

Endless patience indeed.

 


	4. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [merulanoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir) who asked for _revealing their relationship to Ciri_ ^^

 

Ciri hadn’t mentioned them missing the birth, although in fairness they’d still been in Belhaven when Geralt had heard the bells in the distance. Within half an hour the sound had swept closer to them as temples and houses of worship took up the song. The joyous sound could only mean one thing, and Geralt had been glad they’d been in a more enthusiastic part of the Empire when the news had arrived: he was not sure what Emhyr would have done if anyone in the tavern had been anything other than delighted at the news of the birth of his grandchild. It took another week before they were close enough to the Capital for news of the child’s sex to reach them, but even then there was no word on the child’s name.

 

Once they’d arrived at the palace and everyone had been suitable horrified by the state of Emhyr’s well, everything, they’d been shown to Ciri’s private rooms where she’d been overjoyed to see them. She’d hastily arranged for rooms for them, but when Geralt had stood to go she’d asked to have a word with her father. With quick glance at Emhyr, Geralt had left for his hot bath and clean clothes.

 

When an aide came to ask him to join her highness for dinner, he was taken back to Ciri’s private rooms, only this time there was a table groaning under the weight of the dishes on it. Geralt’s eyes found Emhyr first though, washed and clothed in a manner more befitting his station. At first glance he looked comfortable to be back in familiar surroundings, but something in his posture caused Geralt to take a step towards him in concern before he remembered that Ciri was in the room. He sat down rather abruptly on the sofa furthest from Emhyr.

 

Ciri looked at him a little quizzically, but didn’t comment.

 

“I know we have important matters to discuss,” she said, “but first I would like to introduce you both to your grandchild.”

 

Geralt winced internally at bad news they were bringing her, but Ciri was standing and walking towards an inner door that opened to reveal a nurse carrying a tiny bundle of waving limbs and cloth.

 

She turned back to them, with a look of such softness on her face that Geralt felt almost as if he were intruding.

 

“This is Pavetta Aine Riannon var Emreis,” she said, smiling still.

 

Geralt risked another glance at Emhyr, but he was once again Emhyr var Emreis and his expression was perfectly within his control. Then Ciri was handing the bundle to Geralt and all of a sudden he had his grandchild in his arms. He was glad he’d already been sitting down. She looked like every other baby he’d ever seen - like a tiny, scrunched-up old person, complete with drool. And yet, somehow, she was amazing. She batted one of her tiny fists against his chin as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. She smelt like Ciri, he realised.

 

“Geralt.”

 

He looked up to see that Emhyr had come to stand next to Ciri, who was wiping at her eyes.

 

“She’s amazing,” he told them both, utterly honest.

 

Ciri laughed a little, and Emhyr’s expression lightened. Geralt passed her over to him, and Emhyr sat down on the sofa to take her.

 

“She has your mother’s eyes,” he told Ciri, holding his granddaughter close.

 

“Thank you,” she replied, and Geralt knew then that she had been waiting for Emhyr’s permission to name her.

 

-

 

It was late by the time they finished discussing both the damage they’d seen and possible solutions. Ciri had seemed well prepared for the poor harvest though, and was contemplative but not troubled by the news they brought.

 

“I was thinking I would have to introduce the new crop rotations slowly so as not to upset the Protectorate states unduly, but perhaps this will help me prove that I wish to work with them rather than have to fight them every step of the way.”

 

“And Eshon?” Emhyr asked, cryptically.

 

“I have already sent out riders,” Ciri replied, which left Geralt none the wiser but seemed to please Emhyr.

 

Having had his fill of both dinner and the machinations of not one but two heads of state, Geralt announced he was heading to bed. He would find his way to Emhyr’s chambers later of course, but he was careful to give no indication of such as he bid them both good night.

 

“What’s going on?” Ciri asked, just as he stepped away from the table.

 

“What do you mean?” Emhyr replied.

 

Geralt looked longingly at the door, he had been so close.

 

“You are as thick as thieves, and Geralt,” she added, turning to him, “you have stared at my father so often this evening I thought that your eyes might get stuck.”

 

Geralt resisted his initial instinct, which was to look to Emhyr for help.

 

“Er… I. I mean we…,” he fumbled.

 

“‘ _We_ ’ what?” Ciri asked, eyes narrowed dangerously.

 

Geralt gave up and sat back down, as it looked like he wasn’t going to get to his bed anytime soon.

 

“A little help here?” He asked, turning to Emhyr who gave him a look that indicated that as he had made this mess, he would be the one cleaning it up.

 

Geralt gave him his best glare, then turned back to Ciri who was looking between them with growing comprehension. He gestured at Emhyr, who had lent back into the sofa, seemingly settling in for the show.

 

“He kissed me first.”

 


	5. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely [Jaden56](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaden56/pseuds/Jaden56), who asked for _anything immediately following the end of part one._

 

There were no explosions, no distant screams, but there was a sense of the air clearing—like the lightness after a summer storm. Geralt turned to Emhyr, who was looking at the pile of dismembered limbs with a pained air.

 

“I do not suppose there is any chance you will be content to leave those to the animals?” He asked.

 

“Nope,” Geralt replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Emhyr was _not_ avoiding his gaze, he was sure of it. It was merely that they had work still to do.

 

It took four journeys, and the sacrifice of one of their blankets, to get the remains out of the cave and onto a pyre that Emhyr had managed to build in the meanwhile. Geralt steeled himself to light it. The last time he had done this had been for Vesemir, but he knew he would have to rid himself of the association soon—the disposal of the dead played a significant role in the work of a Witcher, after all. Before he could manage it though, Emhyr had taken the torch from him and lit it himself. 

 

“Sorry,” Geralt said, “I just…” He trailed off, not sure of his excuse. 

 

Emhyr regarded him for a moment but only said that they should get back to the horses. He was right of course, even with the flames the remains would attract creatures both monstrous and more ordinary, so they would need to put some miles behind them before they made camp for the night. Geralt went to collapse the cave’s entrance with a concentrated Aard sign, and then they were on their way. 

 

There was no sign of the dead as they rode back the way they had come, and Geralt tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that they had, at the very least, saved a fair number of people from an unpleasant end. He was tired though, tired of travel, tired of the dead, and tired of hope.

 

They ate the last of their food in the early twilight, sure they would be at the nearest village by supper time the next day. Emhyr set up the tent as usual, and after a moment Geralt went to set the wards as even without the walking dead there would still be necrophages aplenty.  


 

He kept his mind blank as he crawled into the tent, removing his outer clothes methodically then wrapping himself in a thin blanket to sleep. He froze when Emhyr slipped a hand over his side, fitting himself to his back as he had done most nights for the last several weeks. 

 

“Geralt?” He asked, sounding puzzled.

 

Geralt turned and curled into Emhyr, swallowing down the sound that wanted to escape him and Emhyr put his arms around him once again, pulling him closer.

 

“You are, at times, an idiot,” he said, and Geralt half laughed. They stayed like that for a little while, Geralt finding strength in the nearness of Emhyr. 

 

“Did you ever doubt?” Geralt asked.

 

Emhyr ran a hand up over his shoulder to his cheek, and then tilted his head up for a kiss before replying. 

 

“Never.”  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested I'm taking part in [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fth2019offerings.dreamwidth.org/86943.html) this year (in any fandom) - all monies going to good causes.


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